[hider=The Ninth Primarch]
[INDENT][COLOR=SLATEGRAY][CENTER][sup][h1][center][img]PRIMARCH_PORTRAIT_IMG_URL[/img][/center][b][center][color=black] N O L R A K H,  T H E  V E I L E D  O N E[/color]

[color=#03808d]N O L R A K H,  T H E  V E I L E D  O N E[/color][/center][/b][/h1][/sup]

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“Drown the stars in blood.” [/i][/sup][/color][/CENTER]

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[b][color=#03808d]A P P E A R A N C E[/color][/b]
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[hider=Seek not to lift the veil...][img]https://i.imgur.com/6fyVVQh.jpeg[/img][/hider]
[color=#3c787a]Obscure flaws in the Ninth’s genes have conspired with the Warp to undermine the image of physical perfection that ought to have been his birthright as a Primarch. A germ of disfigurment forever gnaws at him from within, regularly rising to hiderously transfigure him before being forced back by his innate regeneration in an agonizing cycle that repeats every solar month.

At the peak of his health, Nolrakh could well pass for truly human were it not for his stature. Towering at some twelve feet in height, he has the robust frame of a warrior, though his pale skin belies his darkling habits. His firm, if subtly tense posture and unscarred bald head do not appear out of place among the Imperium’s gene-altered troops, and his stern statuesque features lend him an air fit for command. The only flaw marring them are his eyes, of whom one – which precisely is never constant – is a hollow socket, and the other murky, with no discernable iris.

This peak of health, however, only endures for a matter of days, after which an unholy transformation begins. Skin frays and recedes, hard white growths part twisting flesh, and facial features drift almost fluidly overnight, until in about a week the decay is complete. In this state, Nolrakh’s body is a horrific mass of knotted strands of muscle, ragged coils of pale skin and exposed plates of hardened bone extruding from a fantastically misshapen skeleton. Thin strips of purulent necrosis are nested between the ridges and chaotic contours of his frame. His hands are claws of sharpened bone, his head little more than a skull of exposed osseous exoskeleton, pitted and gouged like a lunar surface. His eye, now truly cyclopean, sits in its fractured center, surmounting the rictus death-grin of a lipless mouth, from which issues a voice at once guttural, crackling and sibilant – a mere ruin of the curt and acerbic, yet compelling tones of his apex. In time, the process of healing begins, and the horror is steadily swathed in healthy skin and flesh once more, but ever it remains skulking under the surface until it is ready to emerge anew.

Ashamed of his monstrous and unstable essence, the Ninth usually hides his features under heavy robes or armour, with a veil or hood that lends him his moniker.[/color]

[b][color=#03808d]D E T A I L S[/color][/b]
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[b]Legion Name:[/b][/color] [color=#3c787a]The Reviled / Star Reavers[/color]

[color=#03808d][b]Homeworld:[/b][/color] [color=#3c787a]Laethem[/color]

[color=#03808d][b]Psyker Grade:[/b][/color] [color=#3c787a]Zeta [/color][/center]
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[b][color=#03808d]C O N C E P T[/color][/b]
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[b]Essence:[/b][/color]
[color=#3c787a]A living paradox, a loftiest pinnacle of humanity and a most vile of miscreations coexisting in a single tormented body, Nolrakh is a being haunted by his aberrant nature and forever goaded by the hope for salvation, or at least redemption. Burdened by what he sees as his innate sin, he at once abases himself before the Emperor he has failed and is driven to acts of tremendous hubris in his efforts to restore himself, be that atrocious carnage in a futile bid for glory or the blackest scientific inquests in search of an escape from the unnatural cycle that measures his existence; in the same breath, he yearns to serve humanity and immolates it on the altar of his desperation. Tragic spirit and loathsome butcher, champion and abomination, Primarch and mutant; such is the fate of the Ninth.[/color] 

[color=#03808d][b]Skills:[/b]
[u][b]Haunter of the Dark:[/b][/u][/color] [color=#3c787a]Born and grown under distant stars and in deepest shadow, Nolrakh shuns the light and takes to darkness as his home. The sight of his vitreous, atrophic eye is dim in the glow of day, but seizes upon shapes and motion with uncanny precision when immersed in penumbra, painting a colourless but stark world of outlines to his mind. Where the shadows grow too deep even for this gift, his psychic ability to perceive the minds of living things in his vicinity supplies, along with the strange senses of his mutated physiology - the taste of the wind, the tremors of the soil, the vibrations in the air all lead him to his quarry. Despite his imposing size, his deftness in moving unseen and unheard as long as darkness cloaks him is downright preternatural, even when armoured; no predator nor prey can match his nightly stalking.[/color] 

[color=#03808d][u][b]Horror Made Flesh:[/b][/u][/color] [color=#3c787a]Fear and revulsion are the mutant’s lot, and Nolrakh is no exception. As heavily as his ghastly appearance weighs on him, he knows it can be leveraged to inspire dread in his enemies, and is skilful in doing so should it be required. Misshapen claws and teeth flashing at the edge of one’s vision, or the apparition of a hideous visage, can break the staunchest spirits, but the Ninth Primarch’s potency of fear goes beyond mere physical intimidation. A hypnotic force dwells in his eye which can strike those who meet its gaze with paralyzing anguish, or plague them with hallucinations were they even to escape its grasp. Should all else fail, he summons forth raw psychic might to batter down the most stubborn mind with the force of Warp-induced emotion.[/color]  

[color=#03808d][u][b]The Flawed Fortress:[/b][/u][/color] [color=#3c787a]Nolrakh’s body is perpetually at war with itself, wracked by periodic surges of degeneration and reconstruction which preclude all attempts at an external cure for his deformity. His regenerative potential, truly stupendous by any standard, stubbornly rejects surgical or bionic alterations as well as the fruits of his mutation, which in turn never fail to reassert themselves in the same immutable forms. Grisly a fate as this may be, a hidden blessing lurks in it, for harm is likewise unable to leave a lasting mark on the Primarch. No matter how deep the wound or thorough the mutilation, he can recover from virtually any injury as long as he is not slain outright, and even regrow entire limbs with minimal medical assistance. This, together with his resilience to pain, enables him to fight in an uniquely lethal style, recklessly exposing himself to damage that he might strike with ferocious abandon.

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[/hider][hider=IX Legion]
[INDENT][COLOR=SLATEGRAY][CENTER][sup][h1][center][img]BANNER_IMG_URL[/img][/center][b][center][color=black] T H E  R E V I L E D [/color]

[color=#03808d] T H E  R E V I L E D [/color][/center][/b][/h1][/sup]

[color=#03808d][sup][i]"Death walks with us!"[/i][/sup][/color][/CENTER]

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[b][color=#03808d]D E S C R I P T I O N[/color][/b]
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[color=#3c787a]Ferocious tribal warriors bedecked in macabre trophies, the sons of the Ninth Legion are harrowed by the curse inherited from their sire. Though stable enough on implantation, as if eager to infect healthy bodies, their gene-seed is fraught with the exsecratio corporis, the malediction of the flesh, a plague of cascading mutation that ravages them as they age. Some of them swell and bloat into faceless, spike-toothed unwieldy hulks the size of tactical dreadnought armour; others are twisted into hunched, predatory shapes, with exposed plates and ridges of bone matching those of their progenitor. In the vast majority, however, the exsecratio manifests as a gradual atrophy of limbs and organs, forcing its victims to seek bionic replacements.

The Reviled channel the pain and rancor of their affliction into a peculiarly vicious and gruesome form of warfare. Thirsting to mangle their foes’ bodies as well as shatter their spirits with abject terror, they often strike in darkness, bearing down in close combat with a fury of roaring metal and fearsome weapons from Terra’s past. Many take oaths to die in battle before succumbing to the rot, and slay unfeelingly without fear or remorse. Like their forebears, they are sworn to the chainblade and the flame, and like them they give no quarter. [/color]

[b][color=#03808d]D E T A I L S[/color][/b]
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[color=#03808d][b]Allegiance:[/b][/color] [color=#3c787a]Imperium.[/color]

[color=#03808d][b]Status:[/b][/color] [color=#3c787a]Nominal, circa three thousand Astartes active.[/color]

[color=#03808d][b]Location:[/b][/color] [color=#3c787a]Sol System. [/color][/center]
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[b][color=#03808d]C O N C E P T[/color][/b]
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[color=#03808d]
[b]History & Background:[/b][/color]
[color=#3c787a]The Ninth Legio Astartes was descended from Antarctic stock, drawn from the tribes of techno-nomads who travelled the benighted ice wastes in great armoured caravans. It is a legacy of little pride or renown, but they have always clung to it fiercely, ever since the affliction in their geneseed began to torment them in their very first days. The Emperor’s own reassurance that a cure would be found under His auspices did much to bolster the nascent legion’s spirits, but it was the adoption of its native tribal traditions that forged its sons into what they have become, brutal warriors who fight without fear of death.

In their first great campaign since their deployment, the Reviled marched to cleanse the lands of Nordyc from the taint of the priest-king of Maulland Sen. Despite battling alongside forces from the Sirens of Terra in the opening clashes, the abominations of sorcery they witnessed during the purges have left the warriors of the Ninth deeply mistrustful of psykers. Legion tradition holds that the IX earned its colours in the decisive Battle of the Red Frost, taking the bleak green of the northern tundra for its plate and the cyan of the witchfire-lit glaciers for the trimmings.

Once the confederacy of Maulland Sen was not more, the afflicted Legion went on to join the fight against Kalagann, the lord of Ursh, raiding across the frozen plains before reuniting with the Imperium’s thrust against the fortress-capital. Throughout the Unification Wars, the Reviled fought alongside many of their sibling Legions, as well as the occasional unit of the Exercitus Imperialis and the Thunder Warriors – but the latter are spoken of no more.[/color]


[color=#03808d][b]Goals & Objectives:[/b][/color]
[color=#3c787a]To fight and overcome every enemy, both in the dark of space and within themselves.[/color]

[color=#03808d][b]Notable Members:[/b]
[u][b]Osorin Skorr, the Spitefather[/b][/u]:[/color] [color=#3c787a]Not the best fighter in the IX, nor perhaps even the best tactician, Skorr nevertheless emerged from the first generation as its best leader, and has since then borne the honour and the burden of being Master of the Legion. Charisma and facility for rhetoric are rare gifts among the darkling Reviled, and the Spitefather is blessed with both, wielding them to embolden the spirits of his brothers and show a personable face to outsiders. Despite his fabled tongue and calculating mind, however, even he is not safe from the execration, and already parts of his body are beginning to fail.[/color]

[color=#03808d][u][b]Tevr Nyrid[/b][/u]:[/color] [color=#3c787a]The finest blade of the first generation, the grim and fatalistic Praetor Nyrid has with time become more than just the Legion’s champion. Despite his appearance as a savage and silent warrior, he is one of Skorr’s oldest and most valued advisors, the Spitefather’s right hand, as well as a keeper of tradition, teaching his younger brothers of the old ways. Shaping the Reviled’s culture has been his calling, but now that it is consolidated, many believe that he shall soon take the Oath of Death, and that he is training Captain Ymorag of the Harrowers to succeed him as master of rituals.[/color]

[color=#03808d][u][b]Tzosh Ghaal[/b][/u]:[/color] [color=#3c787a]Primus medicae and now Apothecary, Ghaal was the last of the informal triumvirate that arose in the early Ninth Legion, and the most talented in the laborious art of healing. He has taken it upon himself to not merely mend his legion’s battle wounds, but to in time excise the flaw rooted in its genes. Startlingly arrogant in his placid bearing, Ghaal mistrusts the skills of mortal savants and seeks to take the task into his own hands. While the malediction of the flesh has drawn first blood in their struggle, he has said that he does not intend to die soon, and is one to hold to his word.



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